When It Rains, It Pours
by thatTaylorgirl
Summary: The case of a missing girl takes three CSIs on a wild ride! Nick, Warrick, Grissom. Please review! Final Chaper up!
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** This is going to be different than my first two stories. While my first two were primarily case driven stories...this piece will be more of an emotional venture into Nick's psyche during a case. Hopefully I can continue to update every couple of days! Please, let me know what you think of this...let me know if I'm heading in a good direction.

* * *

_When it rained in Vegas, it poured. And it was monsoon season in the desert. _

Blood began pooling on the floor. He should have been used to seeing blood, but this was different. This he had caused, and it was all over his knuckles as proof. Now, his best friend was pulling him off a suspect.

Blood rushed to his face.

Anger?

Embarrassment?

Resentment?

He had to get out.

The sunglasses were a vain attempt to keep the early morning sun from blinding him. It didn't help matters that he was getting a migraine. They were a new development within the past eight months, ever since…

He heard Warrick calling after him, but didn't turn around. He knew what he'd say. He'd been an ass the past few days, he knew that. But, this was not the time to face off with his partner, his best friend; he knew it would be ugly if they did.

Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd reacted so strongly to the case. He'd seen thousands of cases like this one. Why was this case so special? Why did _this_ one push him over the edge?

* * *

The lab was quiet for a Monday night, unusually so. Swing shift had picked up the two major cases called into the lab, leaving graveyard to wait for the next batch. It was the one job in Vegas where one never grew tired of being bored. Boredom was a good sign on the job…usually.

Nick sat in the break room with Greg and Warrick. For the first part of shift, the three had busied themselves clearing up past cases prepping for court dates soon approaching, making sure all loose ends were tied.

"Hey guys, I have a couple cases," Grissom said coming into the quiet room. Greg, who was half asleep on the sofa, jumped at the sound of his boss's voice. "Greg, join up with Catherine at the Bellagio," he said to the young CSI.

"A DB?" he asked almost excitedly as he read over the assignment slip now in his hand.

"Suspicious circs and everything," Grissom nodded as the young man breezed past him to collect his field kit.

"I need you guys with me," he pointed to Nick and Warrick who had quickly become amused by Greg's enthusiasm.

"What's up?" Nick asked leaning back in his chair closing the magazine in front of him.

"Brass called. He's in Henderson," Grissom said leading the men from the break room toward his office. He handed Warrick the assignment slip as he walked behind his desk.

"A nine year old girl's missing?" the tall CSI asked leaning against the door jam. Nick had made himself at home against a filing cabinet.

"Yeah, the girl's father called 911 when he went to put her to bed around ten o'clock," the shift supervisor nodded gathering his field kit.

"He waited five hours to call it in?" Nick asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I like the guy already," Warrick smirked as he followed Nick into the hallway.  
The two CSIs headed to the locker room, slipped on their nylon field vests and grabbed their field kits.

The night air was thick, almost humid, for mid December. It was uncharacteristically warm for that time of year. A rumble of thunder in the distance threatened rain. Hopefully, it would the weather would stay true to form and keep the rain in the mountains.

"Come on, you were the only other person in the house. You didn't hear or see anything?" Brass stood on the front walkway. He had a man handcuffed and was busy trying to pry answers out of him. The man was clearly intoxicated.

"Hey Jim," Grissom said has he joined the man on the front step.

"Gil, meet Don Tedesco. Hey, Donny, why don't you tell us what happened?" he asked raising his voice. Maybe he thought it would bring the man out of his stupor.

It didn't. The man only mumbled incoherently.

"Hey Donny," he said his voice raising in volume one more time, "you're gonna go sit in a cell for a while. Maybe twelve hours in lock-up will help you sober up. Get him out of here," Brass said with a sigh handing the man over to an officer.

"So, do you want to tell me what happened?" Grissom asked. Nick and Warrick stood on either side of him.

"Guy makes a call to 911. He kept rambling on about not being able to find his kid. Obviously drunk off his rocker, dispatch sends me out here to check it out. I find the dad sitting on the front stoop rocking back and forth. He had this in him arms," he said handing over a stuffed rabbit.

"At least you put on a pair of gloves," Grissom said. There was a spark in his eye as he pulled on his own latex gloves and bagged up the stuffed animal.

"Hey, I used to be one of you guys, remember?" he asked a smile on the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, Warrick you take the perimeter," the supervisor said as the CSI sprung into action. "Nicky you're inside with me."

The CSI nodded. He'd been unusually quiet since he'd been assigned to this crime scene. Grissom had noticed; so had Warrick. But, both knew better than to ask him about it. Maybe he wasn't ready to handle another case like this one. It had only been a month and a half since the McBride case. Maybe it was too soon.

Maybe he wasn't doing his job, but Grissom shrugged off the concern and followed Nick into the house. They'd start their search in the girl's bedroom and work their way toward the main part of the house.

Nick stifled a yawn as he entered the house. The thermostat must have been set on eighty degrees. He was glad he'd worn short sleeves to work. As much as he hated the cold nights, he hated the heat of confined spaces even more. The house was small, no question about that. It took every ounce of control within him to keep moving down the narrow hallway toward the girl's room. And he did keep moving. It was the only thing that kept him sane. His job was his lifeline.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** I know I said it'd be a couple days...but I had the day off today, so I spent it writing. I know the first chapter was kind of on the short side...no worries, this is a little longer. Thanks to all y'all that read and reviewed the first chapter, made me smile to wake up this morning and see my inbox bustin' out with reviews! Hope you like this chapter!

* * *

The air in the home was stifling. The thickness in the air was closing in on the two CSIs, at least on Nick anyway. Cigarette smoke lingered, threatening to cut off the air supply in the small house. There was a yellow tinge to almost everything in the home.

It was typical for a Vegas home, a one-story white stucco ranch style house. The two bedrooms located at the end of a short hallway were near the miniscule bathroom. Nick slowly made his way into the missing girl's bedroom. Sweat dappled his forehead; he could feel perspiration running down his back, between his shoulder blades causing his black tee shirt to stick to him. Couldn't someone turn down the heat?

"Wonder where the mother is?" Grissom asked as he lingered in the hallway taking in the few family photos hung on the wall. There was no response from Nick; he really shouldn't have expected one. The family looked happy. He saw their eyes; they weren't hiding anything like most of the photos he saw. There was life in their eyes, the happiness ran deep.

Funny how things change… and they always change. He'd already witnessed what change can do to a man. He inched his way down the hall, toward the girl's bedroom.

Nick was busy taking in his surroundings, oblivious to the man that stood and watched him in the doorway. The girl really liked colors; her room was bright, vibrant, and full of life. It was a shell. It was as if Nick could feel the life slipping out of the room as he stood there. He put his field kit down on the purple shag carpet and made his way to the far wall where the girl's dresser was piled high with books. _Cinderella, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_…the girl was into fairy tales, he thought as he ran a gloved finger over the bindings of the books.

"She was a princess," Nick said under his breath as he took in the framed award certificates lining her wall. She'd won several spelling bees and received awards for writing; _Best Short Story in the Second Grade_, he read.

Then there was the closet. Her clothes were as lively as the room. Colors danced across the bar; dresses, scarves and sweaters lined the closet. The room screamed creativity. It was easy to tell the little girl was an artist.

"Finding anything?" Grissom asked entering the room. His voice was off. It was gentle, soft, tender even.

Nick looked up from a photo he held in his hand. A girl smiled back at him, her front two teeth were missing. She was dressed in a bright pink taffeta skirt, colorful leggings, a bright purple tee shirt with a pink feather boa draped around her neck. Her blue eyes were vibrant and bright as she played with the golden retriever in the photo. A small tiara sat atop her long brown crimped hair. She was a princess through and through.

"Susan Tedesco," Nick said motioning with the picture frame. Was that a catch in his voice? Grissom walked around the room his hands in the pockets of his navy CSI parka. He began making mental notes of the girl's life as it was captured in the many pictures lying around.

"Why don't you go process the father's room?" Grissom said standing next to the CSI. "I'll take this room," he nodded a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I'm okay," Nick shook his head. "I've got it." His accent was thicker than usual as he pulled at the neck of his shirt. _If it wasn't so damn hot in here_, he thought.

"I mean it," Grissom said handing the man his field kit. "I'll take this room. Go check the others."

"Fine," he sighed in resignation. He took his field kit from his boss and walked out of the room. The hall was narrow. The pain he was getting behind his eyes wasn't helping matters any, either. He looked down the hallway toward the father's bedroom. The door was half closed; there was no light on in the room. He cringed at the thought of what he might find behind that door.

Nick leaned against the wall and shut his eyes, taking a minute to gather his senses before diving further in. There was a tightening in his chest. He hadn't felt like this in several months. He took several deep breaths to try and calm his rapidly beating heart.

"You alright man?" Warrick asked causing Nick to jump. "Hey," he said stopping abruptly in his tracks, "Sorry. I thought you heard me. You alright there?"

"Fine," he nodded, "just catching my breath."

"Where's Griss?" the tall CSI asked slowly moving closer while keeping a concerned eye on his partner.

Nick motioned with his head toward Susan Tedesco's room as he worked up the willpower to enter the dark bedroom. He hated it more than anything when Warrick looked at him that way, and it had been happening more often recently. He vaguely heard his partner catch Grissom up on his findings outside as he pulled out his Maglite and swept the pitch black room with the yellow-white beam of light. Finding the light switch he flipped it, turning on the light next to the queen sized bed taking up most of the space in the small room. The room itself was a wreck. The bed was left unmade and clothes were strewn about the room, over the armchair in the corner, hanging over half-open and closed drawers in the dresser. There was a pile of apparently dirty clothes spilling out of the closet into the middle of the room.

Like everything else in the house, the walls, though white at one point, were now tinged a dingy yellow. The smell of nicotine and cheap alcohol made Nick's stomach turn.

It was clear this was a man's room. There didn't seem to be a woman's touch in the house outside the little girl's room. That room looked like it belonged in a different house altogether, it was like stepping into another world. The smoke and alcohol seemed to graciously miss that room. The flowered comforter atop the bed in the father's room was the only sign that a woman, at one time, had occupied it. If Nick looked close enough, he could have sworn he could still see the indentation of two bodies on the mattress.

Had the mother died?

Had she simply left the family, leaving Susan behind?

_Doubtful_, Nick thought.

He really dreaded going over this room, but he gritted his teeth and got to work.

Donny Tedesco was a pig. Everything in this room pointed to a man that cared little about life. Nick found four empty whisky bottles underneath the bed. He bagged each bottle separately and laid them aside. There was a half empty bottle of the same cheap booze in the bedside table drawer. A glass was left half empty atop the small piece of furniture.

_What's a girl like Susan doing in a house like this?_ Nick shook his head as he bagged the whiskey, poured the contents of the glass into an evidence jar and bagged the glass.

He slowly made his way around the room, as he had done in the first bedroom. There were no photos to speak of in this room, though. It was as if the man were trying to erase all memory of his family, or maybe just his wife. It was hard to tell.

Nick came to the pile of clothes spilling from the closet. Sifting through the top of the pile he came to a nearly shredded white tee shirt. He noticed the blood right away. It wasn't a lot, but it was fresh, still wet in spots. He carefully bagged the shirt and sorted through the rest of the clothes. It was harder to notice the blood on a pair of navy blue sweat pants, but it was there, and it didn't go unnoticed by the trained eye of the CSI.

_God, don't let this be the girl's blood_, Nick sighed and stood from his crouched position.

Had this man been smart enough to change clothes before calling the police? If so, why dump them in a pile of dirty clothes rather than the trash?

He looked at the bed, his hands on his hips. It was the last thing to process, and it was the thing Nick dreaded most.

He grabbed the ALS from the hallway and returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Putting on a pair of orange safety glasses, he switched on the ALS and turned off the lights in the bedroom. The light gave the room an eerie blue glow as Nick crossed over to the bed. Pulling back the white flowered sheets, he scanned the light over the bottom sheet. There, as clear as day, were stains. _Semen_, Nick noted the multiple stains. When was the last time this guy had changed his sheets?

He continued scanning the bed, noting each stain with a black felt tipped pen. He shuddered when he came to another stain. It wasn't semen. Was there a woman in his life after all? He marked these stains with another pen.

As he finished processing the bed, he turned the bedroom lights back on and opened the door.

"Hey, man you finished with that?" Warrick asked pointing to the ALS as Nick gathered up his evidence.

"Yeah," he nodded not looking up from his task at hand. The pain behind his eyes had migrated to his temple and was steadily growing in intensity.

"Griss wants us to tag team on the living room and kitchen," he said pausing in the door way.

"I'm done here," Nick nodded. "I'll get started."

"Is there something up, bro?" Warrick asked not ready to let his partner pass.

"I'm fine," Nick shook his head. He hated the question as much as he knew Warrick hated his response.

Warrick clenched his jaw at the sound of the two words. Nick was lying, he knew it. He also knew the man was too stubborn to talk about it, let alone admit something was wrong. He'd worked with him too long to not know the man. They'd been through too much together.

"I'll start on the living room," Nick said squeezing past his partner and heading down the hallway.

Though there was never a good case to investigate, this particular one gave Nick a feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was something he hadn't felt in several months. It was nothing like the feelings he'd held onto during the McBride case. There wasn't that urgency, the hope that the girl was still alive. This feeling was much darker than that. It went much deeper than that, and he hated it with every fiber of his being.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note:** I wanted to get the next chapter up before Christmas...working kinda late on it tonight...but i'm just in time for CSI on Spike TV at midnight! Whoohoo! I hope you all enjoy this chap! Thanks for all the reviews on chapter two...this has been a tricky story to get right, and it's only gonna get trickier...i have a lot planned for these guys!  
We're still in the house for this chapter...there's a lot to cover...so here ya go! Merry Christmas to y'all...and I'll see ya next week!

* * *

Nick set the evidence from the bedroom in the hallway as he squeezed past Warrick. The whiskey bottles, the bed sheets, the bloody clothes felt like fifty pound weights in his hands, weighing him down.

"Hey guys," Grissom called from the girl's bedroom. "Check this out." He was over by the one window in the room. The lime green curtains were pulled back from their original position concealing the view from the window. It wasn't much of a view, the house across the street was all that the window revealed. _But to a nine year old girl in this house, that could be the world_, Nick thought crossing the room to join Grissom and Warrick. Something on the window pane had caught their boss's attention.

"The window's nailed shut," Warrick said his voice weight.

Nick had seen this before, window's being nailed shut. Only it was four years ago, and it wasn't a nine year old girl. Those windows were nailed to keep someone _out_. This window was nailed to keep a little girl _in_. He shuddered at the thought.

Warrick had caught a glimpse of his partner's reaction, but knew if he'd played into his friend's emotions it would only serve to worsen the situation. The last thing he wanted was to be the reason Nick shut off completely. They'd worked too hard in the past months to ward off just that.

"I'm gonna get started on the living room," Nick said with a sigh. He left the room allowing Grissom to continue with the ALS. There was no way he wanted to know what was on the little girl's bed. He had his own ideas and his gut was telling him that his imagination wasn't far from reality. It made him sick just thinking about it.

The living room had the same dingy look. It was a small room, as was the house. A couch took up one wall and faced a decent sized entertainment center. Considering the condition of the house itself the entertainment system was in prime condition.

Nick started with the couch. He'd make his way around the room as he'd done before with the bedroom. He really shouldn't have been surprised by the five or so whiskey bottles he found under the couch. Most of them were empty. There was one bottle left in the open on top of the end table. It was clear the man had his own priorities, and Susan wasn't number one. It was another stomach churning realization.

Sometimes he wished he didn't feel as much. Feelings could get a man in trouble. Then again, he thought his feelings were what made him the CSI that he was. He honestly didn't want to lose that part, that connection to the job. Though, life would be easier if he could shut them off; especially for a case like this.

"What have you got?" Warrick asked snapping his partner back to the reality in front of them. He was standing in front of the coffee table shuffling through a pile of magazines.

Nick placed the bagged whiskey on the table. He didn't feel like talking, even if it was a simple question.

"The man sure liked to drink," the tall CSI gave a low whistle.

Nick only nodded while he continued his search.

"I see you bagged some more bottles from the bedroom," Warrick tried again.

"Yeah," he guessed the man deserved a verbalized response, as short as it was.

"You been in the kitchen yet?"

Nick shook his head in the negative. "Saving that for you," he said rifling through the end table drawer now.

"I'm on it," Warrick nodded heading over to the small alcove of a kitchen. It had an open doorway connecting it to the living room. He began weeding through the drawers and cabinets, not quite sure what he was looking for, hoping he'd find something or nothing, he wasn't sure which.

Grissom was still busy in the girl's room; the door now closed casting the hallway in darkness. The supervisor would process the bathroom when he finished. No telling what he'd find in there.

Nick had made his way to the opposite side of the room, now looking through a quite extensive movie collection. _Lethal Weapon, Patriot Games, Scarface, The Godfather, and Casino_ were just a few of the titles Nick read through. What the man hadn't spent on booze, he'd spent on movies. His second rate DVD player sat atop a 37 inch television with a crappy five-point-one surround sound system.

"Good to see the man knows what's important in life," Warrick said from the kitchen. He'd seen Nick take his time at the movie collection. He'd seen the same collection as he walked in from processing the perimeter.

"Yeah," Nick said with a nod. He turned on the TV and powered up the DVD and sound system. It was time to see what the man had been watching last. Within seconds the room was filled with the sounds of gunfire and yelling. Obscenity after obscenity filled the room. It was a Vietnam War movie, _Apocalypse Now_.

"Good movie," Warrick said from the doorway. Grissom entered the room to see what the commotion was just as Nick was shutting things off.

"You losing your hearing now, too?" Brass asked as he came in from outside. He'd been busy canvassing the neighbors, asking questions.

"Hey Jim," Nick said setting down the three remotes it took to control the cheap system.

"Anything from the neighbors?" Grissom asked entering the living room. He must have finished with the bedroom.

"A lot of character witnesses, but nothing concrete about the missing girl. No one saw anything suspicious. But, I got a lot of people telling me what a great guy he was," Jim said sarcastically.

"Could get that just by scoping the house," Warrick said with a nod. He was now leaning against the door frame.

"The guy was a lousy drunk. Neighbors say he couldn't care less about his daughter. From what they told me, he kept the girl inside all the time. They never saw her out playing with other kids. She'd go to school, come home, that's all they'd see of her. It's weird," Brass said.

"How long have they lived in this neighborhood?"

"Just a few years," the detective shrugged. "Moved in back in two thousand," he said glancing at his notepad. "They moved here not long after the man lost his wife."

"Lost?" Grissom asked.

"She had cancer," Brass nodded. "Died summer of 99. They moved in early January of 2000. I hear the father was a class act until about two years ago."

"Are you guys finding anything?" Grissom turned his attention to Nick and Warrick.

"Well, Nicky found, looks like a dozen, whiskey bottles," Warrick pointed.

"Mostly empty," Nick added from his same position in front of the TV unit. He'd been quietly listening to Brass's account from the neighbors. What he heard didn't surprise him. He'd gotten the same story from the evidence he'd found around the dump Warrick kept calling a house.

"How much longer you scientists gonna be?" Brass asked.

"You know how it is Jim," Warrick smiled.

"Actually, can you guys finish up?" Grissom asked collecting his field kit and evidence. "I think I'll ride with Brass back to the lab and get this stuff processing."

"Damn, man, you're leaving us with that nasty ass bathroom?" Warrick asked.

"Alas, poor Warrick," Grissom shook his head, a sparkle in his eye. He quickly shuffled out of the house leaving Nick and Warrick to finish processing the scene.

Warrick had moved to the stove and was now shining his Maglite into the dark interior of the oven. The bulb had long since burned out. It was no surprise that it hadn't been replaced. A thick, nearly black, film covered the bottom of the oven. Warrick grimaced as he ran his gloved finger over the black gooey coating. Caked up grease and…

"What the hell?" he asked, mainly to himself, though loud enough to catch Nick's attention. "Hey, Nicky come check this out. What do you make of this?" he asked showing his partner his index finger. It was stained a rust color.

That feeling returned to the pit of Nick's stomach. The longing to turn it off returned as he began to mentally process the stain. He pulled a cotton swab from Warrick's kit and swabbed his partner's finger.

He'd done this test at least a thousand times before. It was second nature. First the swab, then the chemicals. One drop should do the trick.

"It's blood," Nick nodded solemnly. He hated this part.

"Hand me the fluorescein," Warrick sighed reaching out his hand. Nick did as his partner asked then headed down the hallway for the ALS. "Light her up," Warrick said taking a pair of orange safety glasses and standing back to observe.

There as clear as day shone what both men dreaded. Blood stains covered the inside of the oven. Warrick began snapping photos. They'd need a sample for DNA comparison.

Nick's eyes widened as he flipped on the light source and swept it over the cooking device. He wasn't prepared to deal with what he saw. The churning in his stomach was back, stronger than ever. Before he could gather his senses, he was out the front door ridding his stomach of all he'd eaten earlier that day.

"Damn it," he said shaking his head as he bent over, stabilizing himself with his hands on his knees, trying to get control of his breathing. He wasn't supposed to be weak like this. He was glad Grissom wasn't around. The worried look on Warrick's face as he turned back toward the house was enough to make him cringe. He really didn't feel like explaining himself.

"I'm fine," he shrugged it off trying his hardest to sound believable. "I'll get goin' on the bathroom," he said pushing past his partner and re-entering the home. He needed to get out of there for good. The sooner the better.

"Nick…"Warrick started, stopping Nick in his tracks in the middle of the living room.

"Not now, Rick," he shook his head, his back toward his partner. He couldn't look at him, was afraid he'd break if he did. He'd seen that look in his partner's eyes too often to count, that scared, worried look. He wasn't sure he could handle it right now. He didn't want to try to handle it. "Just…"he trailed off, a catch in his throat, "Not now," he shook his head and headed toward the bathroom.

He shut the door behind him as he turned on the bathroom light. He leaned back against the hard wood and closed his eyes. His breathing was coming in gasps now. His head was splitting. Everything about this house spelled out trouble for Susan Tedesco. It gave him a cold feeling all the way to his core, despite the indoor temperature. A ghost filled this house and it would be up to him to find it and put it to rest. It was that thought that weighed him down the most.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note:** had this chapter ready to post last night...but the site was a little psycho...so I was afforded time to make a few changes...to take things a little deeper...and alas...chapter four is ready. Thanks again for all the reviews...hope you enjoy this next installment...as usual, let me know your thoughts! It'll probably be the New Year before I get the next chapter up...site will be down this weekend for whatever their doing...we'll see what happens...i may surprise you...

* * *

The air was heavy in the closed bathroom; making it hard for Nick to regulate his breathing. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, he only knew he'd been standing there too long. If Warrick wasn't concerned before, he would be by the time came out of there with no evidence to show. 

He glanced into the mirror over the sink as he bagged his latex gloves worn in the living room and pulled on a new pair. He looked like death warmed over. His slightly shaggy brown hair was matted to his forehead. He really needed a haircut. No wonder Warrick was so freaked. A splash of cold water over his face was out of the question, he thought as he began to examine the small bathroom sink. He'd save the drains for last. The slightest bit of hope still hung by a thread.

He gave the room a quick once-over with his eyes. Warrick was right, it was gross. No telling when it had been cleaned last. The rust stain surrounding the top of the tub clearly showed the general water level. There had been a lot of baths taken in that tub, or the pipes were full of rust. Nick liked the odds for the latter best. The house itself was ancient. The mob was still running Vegas when this house had last been renovated.

The toilet was running, a chronic problem to be sure. He'd have to be sure to check the plunger and the tank. Don Tedesco was obviously no handyman.

The small countertop surrounding the sink was cluttered with the typical bathroom accoutrements. A pink toothbrush and some toothpaste, a green hair brush, some hair ties, and soaps left little room for anything else. Nick bagged each item separately and placed them by the bathroom door.

The countertop, made of white Formica, was cause enough for the CSI to get a slight twinkle in his eye. It really was a great surface for holding prints. Nick took a deep breath and pulled out his print powder. Hopefully Grissom had gotten the father's prints when he got back to the lab. They'd need them for comparison.

The father was the best suspect they had so far. If he was perverted enough to hurt his own daughter, Nick was going to be sure he got what he deserved.

Within minutes he'd tape lifted several prints. Though mostly partials they were still workable. They'd gotten hits off less.

It took him nearly an hour to process the small room. Finding evidence amid the grime was a chore. He let out a sigh of relief, though, as he switched off the ALS and opened the bathroom door for the first time since he'd gone in. There was no evidence of blood in either drain, the sink or the tub.

"Hey man, almost done?" Warrick asked from the doorway.

"Just finished," Nick nodded. The look wasn't completely gone from his partner's eye, but it had faded in intensity. "I've got the girl's toothbrush and hairbrush for a DNA profile. I got some workable prints off the countertop."

"Any blood?"

"If there is, I can't find it," he responded picking up his kit and walking down the hall to the living room. "What did you come up with?"

"Well, the blood in the oven…" Warrick trailed off noticing Nick clench his jaw as he stiffened, his muscles tensing in his back. "I found some blood in the sink and drain. Could just be some nasty cooking accident," he shrugged.

"You honestly think this guy's a culinary chef?" Nick smirked. "Take a look around, this guy's a pig. He couldn't care less about his daughter, not to mention his own life."

"Yeah, seems like the man gave up after his wife died," Warrick nodded.

The criminalists gathered up their evidence and loaded up the Denali. They didn't talk much, which suited Nick.

Before leaving the scene they made sure to secure the door and seal it with crime scene tape. No telling if and when they'd need to return.

The girl was still missing. It had been nearly nine hours since she'd disappeared or at least since her father had called it in. Time was running out.

It was almost seven; their shift was coming to an end. The CSIs would drop their evidence off at the lab, report their findings to Grissom and head home for a few hours. DNA took time to process, they'd be lucky to get results the next day let alone next shift. They'd let the lab techs do their jobs and they'd do their best to catch some sleep.

* * *

Nick knew sleep was out of the question. He ran out of sleeping pills over a month ago, hadn't needed them so he hadn't refilled the prescription. He was beginning to regret his tendency to procrastinate and the fact that he'd neglected to keep the prescription full. He'd really like to sleep, if only to forget the case for only a few hours.

He hated even more, the most recent tendency to be haunted by his job. It was reason enough for the sleepless nights, or days, that plagued him every now and then. It was even more reason for the empty bottle of sleeping pills sitting on the counter in his kitchen. He didn't take them regularly, only when he needed them. He didn't need Grissom, or Warrick even, to think he'd become dependent on the sleep aids. Still, he'd have to remember to call the pharmacy when he got home, he thought as he climbed into his truck in the lab parking lot.

He had just missed Grissom in the hallway as he came out of the locker room. He knew Warrick had gone to their boss, and they had had some words, possibly about his reaction at the crime scene, though he couldn't be sure. He didn't feel like facing off with his boss. He was tired. He wanted no more than to go home and crash. He'd face him tomorrow.

As he pulled into his driveway, though, he knew it would be nearly impossible to do what he wanted. He couldn't shut off his brain, as hard as he tried to; scenes from the crime scene kept flashing before him. He couldn't get the pictures of the happy little girl out of his mind's eye.

_Susan Tedesco lived with her parents in Loveland, Colorado. She was a happy child. She had hopes for her life, things she wanted to do; she wanted to be a writer, a vet, and an actress. There was little for her to worry about as she ran across the green lawn playing with her golden retriever. Her long brown hair flowed freely down her back. Her toothless grin lit up her face as she laughed with each wet kiss she received from her dog. _

_Her mom sat on the front porch with a cup of coffee watching her daughter play. She'd been sick a long time. The doctors said the cancer was inoperable. She had chosen to keep the dark news from her daughter. She didn't want to cloud the girl's sunny eyes with the darkness of death. _

_It was that sun from the girl's eyes that made life worth living, worth fighting for. And she'd managed to hang on for three years. She'd watched her daughter graduate from preschool, kindergarten, and now first grade. But she was weak, unable to fight anymore. The cancer was progressing, and time was running out._

_Susan knew things were changing. Her mom was always sick, sleeping more and more. She was unable to play like she used to. Her dolls now sat on the top shelf, forgotten and dusty. Now, she read to her mom instead of her mom reading to her. She'd read to her books of far off places, castles and dragons, princesses being held captive only to be released by their knight in shining armor._

_Life was changing. She knew it the morning her mom didn't wake up from her nap. Her father had come into her room. His eyes were sad, but it really wasn't anything new. She really couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her dad with happy eyes. He'd taken her onto his lap and told her that mommy had gone to see Jesus. That she was just too sick, and that Jesus wanted her for himself._

_It sounded selfish to her, but she knew better. She'd been to church before, knew that Jesus loved her and her mom and dad. With Jesus, she wouldn't be sick anymore._

_Life kept changing. The one thing that was stable in her life was now gone. She cried the day she and her dad drove to Las Vegas. She didn't want to leave her home, her school, and her friends. She wanted to things to stay the same. _

_But, things never stay the same. In Vegas, she noticed a lot of things changing. Their house was smaller and dirtier. Her dad even started changing. He was sad all the time. Slowly that sadness turned into anger and she slowly grew to fear her father. She didn't like it when he smoked. She may have only been nine, but she knew enough that cigarettes were bad, and the bottle that seemed glued to his hand wasn't good either. Most of the time he didn't even use a glass, he just drank straight from the bottle._

_He was always home when she got home from school, usually watching TV or passed out on the couch. On a good day she'd find a frozen dinner in the freezer and manage to fix it herself for supper. She learned fast to take care of herself, to fix her hair, to get ready for school, to do her homework when she got home, and to get ready for bed. She cried herself to sleep almost every night. _

_She missed her mom. _

_She missed her dad._

_It'd been a long time since she'd really seen her dad. The man that resided on the couch was a shell of a man left back in Loveland. It wasn't the man she knew to be her father. _

_She didn't like the man on the couch. Didn't like what he did to her when it was dark, when he thought she was asleep. It scared her, and as grown up as she appeared to be, she still didn't know what to do. She was afraid of what would happen if anyone knew about their secret, what they would think about them._

_Though she was scared of her father, she loved him. Longed for him to return, to be the man he used to be._

Nick woke and sat up abruptly, in a cold sweat. What time was it?

6:23 p.m.

The sun was setting outside, he could tell by the orange-red color streaming in through the shades drawn across his bedroom window. The headache he'd been battling earlier had now dulled to a gently rumble behind his eyes.

He slowly stretched his back, his muscles screaming back at him from being on his feet so long the night before. His back had never been the same since his football playing days.

He was reluctant to get up, but knew if he didn't pop some Ibuprofen soon, he'd regret it later. So, he left the soft comfort of his bed and made his way to the medicine cabinet in his kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he easily swallowed the two capsules. One last long chug from the bottle emptied it, and he threw it in his recycle bin as he headed to the bathroom.

He turned on the hot water, letting the steam rise and fill the room. Almost immediately he felt his tired muscles relax. The pulse of the hot water felt like heaven beating against his bare shoulders. He could almost feel the tension of the last twelve hours melt away. Letting the water wash away most of his pain, he lathered up and rinsed off.

The images of Susan Tedesco, though faded somewhat, still blinded his vision. As he drove to work, Nick felt his determination slowly building into vengeance. He needed to find that little girl. He needed to know if…

He needed to know if she was alright.

He needed to know the truth.

He needed to bring her closure.

He needed to bring himself closure.

He felt that all too familiar sinking feeling in his gut as he pulled into the parking lot of the lab complex. Warrick was pacing the sidewalk, waiting for his partner to arrive. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, as he clenched his jaw.

Nick climbed down from his truck, approaching his friend, wary of what he was about to hear. He knew it wasn't good news.

Warrick's eyes met his partner's. The man looked rested, more so anyway than he did the night before. He hated to be the one to tell him, but it came with the job.

"What's up?" Nick asked stepping up onto the curb.

"They found her," Warrick said somberly. "They found Susan Tedesco."


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** Happy New Year everyone! Here's the next chapter...feels good to write again...it's been a few days, but feels like forever! Hope everyone had a great holiday! As always...thanks for the reviews...hope this chapter will hold you over...hopefully i can get the next one up in the next couple of days! And as usual...reviews are much appreciated! Gracias!

* * *

"The neighbors called it in," Brass said as he met the three CSIs. They had returned to the neighborhood from the previous night, only this time they were in an alley behind the Tedesco residence. "They were taking their garbage out. Found their dog sniffing around the pile over there," Brass pointed as he led the men down the narrow concrete path. "Let me warn you, it sure ain't pretty."

The sun had set completely now. There was only sparse lighting from the houses along the alley. Each CSI pulled out a flashlight and illuminated the suspect pile of trash. The smell alone was enough for Nick's defenses to rise. He only hoped he wouldn't react as he had the night before. He really wasn't up to defending himself to his boss. He willed his stomach to calm down as he approached the garbage pile, each step becoming more difficult the closer he got. They were directly behind the Tedesco house.

Last night they were working a missing person's case. Assumptions were made, conclusions drawn from the evidence. Tonight that case took a dramatic turn as Nick's eyes fell on the little girl.

Susan Tedesco lie face up inside a garbage bag, her eyes slightly opened. Nick felt the bile rising as he pulled out his camera and started snapping photos. The feelings from the night before were returning ten-fold.

"Bless her heart," he shook his head.

"When is garbage pickup?" Grissom asked glancing over at Nick. Brass stood off to the side.

"Tomorrow morning. Guess he was hoping she'd be taken to the dump," the detective shrugged.

"Out of sight, out of mind," Warrick nodded with a smirk of disgust.

Nick crouched beside the garbage pile placing his camera on the ground not once taking his eyes off the little girl. There was fear in her eyes as they stared blankly back at him. Her hair was matted around her pale face.

_Who did this to you?_

"Sorry I'm late, guys," David Phillips, the assistant coroner, said shuffling over to the scene.

Nick stood allowing the coroner room to do his job. He made his way down the alley, looking for what, he wasn't sure. Dave was starting his preliminary report as he took in his surroundings. He wasn't sure he had the stomach to hear what Dave had to say, but he stayed close, just within earshot.

"What do you think?" Warrick asked standing beside the coroner.

"At first glance? Asphyxiation. She has petechial hemorrhaging in both eyes," he said lifting the girl's eyelids to a more open position. Her bright blue eyes once vibrant were now vacant.

"I don't see any ligature marks around her neck," Warrick said crouching next to the victim. "Hang on…" he trailed off pulling out a pair of tweezers from his vest pocket. "I've got some fibers here," he said carefully pulling the miniscule fibers from the corner of the girl's mouth. "Hey Griss, what color was the pillow case on her bed?"

"Purple and pink, why?" the supervisor asked joining them.

"I found some fibers," he said holding the tweezers in the beam of his Maglite.

"You thinking she was smothered?" Grissom asked taking note of Nick's location just down the alley.

"Could be," Warrick nodded.

"Hey guys," Dave said as he picked up the girl and placed her on the waiting gurney. "She's not wearing any underwear."

"Damn," Warrick sighed turning his own glance toward Nick who was now joining them.

"I'll do a SART kit," Dave said starting to wheel the girl away.

"Hey, I found some sheets balled up and thrown away over there," Nick motioned showing the bagged evidence in his hand. "Could be from the girl's room," he said as Warrick and Grissom exchanged looks.

"Nick, ride back with the body," Grissom said with a nod. "Get those sheets to trace, we need a comparison for these fibers," he said handing him the bindle with the fibers Warrick had collected. "We're almost done here."

"Sure," he nodded collecting his kit and following the coroner to the vehicle.

"Hey Nicky," Warrick called jogging to catch up to his partner.

"Rick, if you're gonna second guess me on something, don't," he stopped his friend short; there was fire in his eyes.

"For starters, you can knock the attitude," Warrick said. "Second, I wasn't second guessing a damn thing about you. I was just gonna give you this," he said handing over another plastic evidence bag. Inside was a pair of pajama bottoms. They were pink with purple elephants in tutus.

"I'll get them to trace," Nick said.

"No, DNA," Warrick said walking back to join Grissom.

"You think she was raped?" Nick asked taking a second look at the evidence in his hand.

"Who knows," Warrick sighed turning back to face his friend.

Nick turned to catch back up with Dave. He was never more relieved to leave a crime scene.

* * *

"Hey Doc," Nick asked melancholy strolling into the morgue. Susan Tedesco was laying on the metal table in the center of the room, a white sheet covering most of her body. It felt unusually cold to the CSI.

"I just finished posting her," Dr. Robbins said looking up to meet Nick's eyes. His eyes were sad as they fell upon the little girl on the table.

"COD?" Nick asked keeping his eyes on the girl's face.

"Asphyxiation. I'd say she was smothered," he said. "I found some fibers in her throat," he handed over an envelope. Nick stuck it in the pocket of his lab coat.

"What's with the blue coloring around her face?" Nick asked.

"Whoever smothered her did it with an incredible amount of force," the coroner said holding up some X-rays. "They held something so hard over her face, it broke several bones. Check out the maxilla," he said pointing his gloved finger to the areas just around her nasal cavity.

"You telling me her face was crushed?" Nick asked disgust thick in his voice.

"At her age, the bones in the face are extremely fragile, especially around the sinus cavity and upper jaw. But, to cause this much damage…"

"Someone man-handled this little girl," Nick nodded. "What else?" he asked.

"I did a rape exam," the doctor said returning to the autopsy table. "There's evidence of prolonged sexual abuse. I'd venture to say even as recent asthe past 24 hours. I already sent samples over to DNA for analysis."

"TOD?"

"She's been dead about 24 hours. There was extensive bruising all over her body. Check this out," he said gently rolling the girl onto her side. "What would make a pattern like that?" the coroner asked noting the bruising patterns on the girl's back.

"I don't know," Nick shook his head grabbing the camera and snapping some photos before he turned to leave the morgue.

"Hey Nick, this girl went through hell, catch the guy that did this," Doc Robbins said stopping the CSI at the door.

Nick nodded to the doctor. "Thanks, Doc," he said exiting the cold room.

Nick's mind was racing as he stood just outside the autopsy room the post-autopsy report in his hand. She was nine years old. Who in their right mind would subject a young child to something like that? He'd only been at work a few hours, but the ibuprofen was wearing off. His headache was sounding off warning sirens behind his eyes.

He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there, against the wall with his eyes shut, but the sound of Warrick's voice was enough to jolt him back to reality.

"Hey man," he said walking down the hall toward his partner. "I've been lookin' everywhere for you."

"I just got done with Doc Robbins," he shrugged returning to a full-standing position and walking back toward the lab. He didn't meet Warrick's gaze, was afraid he'd break if he did. That was happening more and more recently. He simply handed him the report.

Warrick read over the findings as he and Nick weaved through the corridors leading back to the lab. Nick had been quiet all night. He knew the case was weighing heavily on the man; it was on all of them really.

"Oh, hey," Warrick said as handing the report back to his partner as they started going their separate ways, Nick to DNA, Warrick to trace. "Griss wants to see you," he said. That look was back in his eyes.

Nick's shoulders slumped as he prepared to face the inevitable. He really hated being the cause for concern. He hated even more that his boss felt like he needed to worry about him, like he was more fragile than the rest of the team. He handed off the enveloped fibers to Warrick as he turned toward the man's office.

Grissom was sitting at his desk as Nick approached the half open door. The office made his skin crawl, another recent develop within the past several months. It wasn't usually the source of intimidation for the CSI, but things had changed.

"You wanted to see me?" he knocked lightly on the door letting himself into the room and taking a seat in front of the man's desk.

"What'd you get from autopsy?" the supervisor asked leaning back in his chair.

Nick handed over the file folder in his hand.

"Doc found fibers in the victim's throat, I sent them to trace."

"She died of asphyxiation," Grissom noted in the report.

"Yeah, someone really manhandled her," Nick sighed. "Doc found several facial fractures and bruises."

"He do a rape exam?"

"Yeah, came back positive," Nick said heavily. "He sent samples to DNA. I was about to follow up on them."

"How are you holding up?" Grissom asked laying the folder on his desk.

"I'm fine."

Grissom cringed at the two words. He knew his CSI better than that.

"Look Grissom, I'm…"

"Fine, you already told me," Grissom nodded. "But, Nick, it's my job to make sure you're _really_ fine."

"Let me guess, Warrick spilled his guts about me spilling mine at the crime scene last night."

"No…he didn't," Grissom said his brow puckered.

"We found blood all over the interior of the oven," Nick started explaining.

"I saw the photos," the supervisor nodded.

"I guess my imagination started coming to conclusions," he shrugged. He was starting to feel like an idiot. He was a better CSI than that.

"Nicky…"

"Look, I know what you're going to say," he shook his head as he leaned forward, his forearms rested on his thighs. "The second I let my emotions take over is the second I lose the case. I know…"

"Actually, I wasn't," Grissom said, a slight smile tickling the corner of his mouth. "Sometimes emotions are the only things to keep us lucid during a case. They can be a real driving force, but the second we let them _cloud_ our judgment is the second we lose the case. This case is a hard one, but we can't lose focus. We can't jump to conclusions before the evidence speaks to us."

"Look, Griss, I'm not some rookie. I know how it works."

"I know that, and that's why I trust you to know how deep you can go before you're in too deep. Don't make me have to be the one to pull you out."

"I need to check on DNA," the CSI nodded as he stood to leave the man's office.

Nick was already in over his head, Grissom knew this. He knew it the second he'd assigned Nick to the case. He just hoped he wasn't too deep to be pulled back. He'd had to rescue him before; he wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Nick walked through the lab in a daze. Things seemed to be going in slow motion as he made his way through the aquarium like hallways. He was in deep, but there was no turning back. He needed closure, he needed answers and there was nothing, and nobody, who could stop him from getting them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note:** things are getting intense...even for me...this chapter took a lot for me to get out! hope it's worthy to be called a CSI angst...please let me know opinions, insights, etc. I'm a little nervous about this chapter...it's a complet 180 from my previous works...  
Just a little side note...I'll be out of town this weekend...so I won't be able to update until Monday or Tuesday...  
Please disregard any major errors/typos...I proofread this..I swear..did spellcheck and everything...but i'm in a hurry to get this up (took longer to write than i anticipated) so i can pack before the new episode tonight! Take care!

* * *

Nick was exhausted. Answers weren't coming as quickly as he'd hoped, he felt the hole he was in growing deeper, preparing to engulf him. He wasn't ready to climb out, though, not until he was satisfied. Not until Susan Tedesco could rest. Not until he could rest. 

"You with us Nicky?" Warrick asked, jolting him from his thoughts. He was in the conference room with Grissom, Warrick and Brass trying to make heads and tails of the evidence. The shift was nearing its end and with no light at the end of the tunnel of this case, he feared he was staring down the barrel of a double shift.

"What have we got on DNA?" Grissom asked making notes in the file in front of him.

"Nothing yet," Nick said leaning back in his chair, his back muscles screaming at him as he stretched, trying to ease the tension that had been building since the previous afternoon. "It'll be this afternoon before I get anything back on the sheets and pajamas. DNA is matching the samples Doc Robbins sent over from the rape kit to the samples from the scene as well as comparing the father's DNA."

"What about the blood you found in the oven?" Grissom asked turning his attention to Warrick, much to Nick's relief.

"Turns out it was blood from a dog. I found traces of skin and hair, sent it to trace. Hodges matched the hairs to a yellow lab. I asked some neighbors about a family pet. They said the Tedesco's had a dog at one time, but they hadn't seen it in months," the CSI said rotating his pen in his fingers. "It's gross I know, I'm workin' to find out what happened," he nodded noticing the disgusted, yet confused, look on his bosses face.

"This guy is one sick bastard," Brass said from his seat. "You think he killed the dog in practice for the girl?"

"I don't know what to think," Grissom shrugged leaning back in his own chair. Without evidentiary clues, were at a standstill. "Look, why don't you guys get out of here for now. There's really nothing we can do until we get results back from the lab." He closed the file in front of him. As much as he hated to admit, it was a waiting game now. "Go home and get some rest. Once the results come in, we'll be running with them."

"I'm all about that," Warrick nodded wearily standing to leave the conference room. He followed Nick to the locker room. The tension was clear on his partner's face. He was struggling with this case; he hesitated to say anything to him about it, though. He didn't want to risk the inevitable explosion of emotions clearly dammed behind the man's seemingly unbreakable façade.

"Hey, man, Tina's cooking breakfast before she heads in to work. You wanna come over?" he asked as he opened his locker. He eyed Nick carefully from the corner of his eye. The man looked beaten as he sat on the bench in front of his own locker, his eyes cast to the ground between his feet.

"Nah, I think I'm just gonna head home," he shook his head. He'd yet to open the locker. He just sat there. The weight of the world seemed to rest on the man's shoulders as he slumped forward. "I've got a couple errands to run and I just want to crash."

Warrick knew better than to put up a fight. The man would talk when he was ready. It'd taken him months to come to a full grip on the reality of last summer. He still didn't talk about it much. No one did.

Still, he knew better than to push the man. _He_ knew better. He only hoped Nick recognized his own position. He hoped his friend didn't lose the ability to save himself, to dig himself out. He'd be damned if he'd lose his friend to this case.

* * *

Night came too early. Sleep had been bliss. Nick had no qualms about the stop he'd made at the pharmacy on his way home from work that morning. He'd slept well and actually felt rested as he got out of bed. The sleeping pill was a miracle in its own right. The eight hours free of thought, free of consciousness were praiseworthy in the mind of the CSI. 

DNA results should be back, ready for him to review. Answers, hopefully, were waiting for him at the lab.

The lab.

So many emotions were conjured up by the thought of walking into the most familiar complex of buildings. There were times he seemed more comfortable at the lab, more at home, than he did in his own house. It seemed to be the place he spent most of his time these days.

Work had become a refuge for him. It had become an escape, an escape from his own thoughts, his own emotions, and his own struggles with life. At work the lives of others took precedence. At work things other than the mood he was in were more important. At work, he had a purpose, a mission, a reason to keep moving. _Work_ was the reason he got out of bed most days. The struggles of others kept him pushing forward.

Most days, work kept him sane.

The past couple days had proven a different scenario. The past couple days, work had become Hell. The past couple days, work had become haunting. Sleep hadn't come as easily the last couple days. His purpose, his mission, took on a new look, that of a nine year old girl.

Her face haunted him.

Susan Tedesco.

Today Susan Tedesco was the reason he got out of bed.

Susan Tedesco was the reason he got dressed.

Susan Tedesco was the reason he tried to eat something, and drove to work.

Susan Tedesco was the reason he gave a smile to Judy at the front desk as he walked in and flashed his ID.

Today Susan Tedesco was the reason…

* * *

The lab was cold today. There was an air of gloom hovering over CSI as Nick weaved in and out of the halls. DNA was back logged with a case from day shift. His DNA results would be a few more hours. The waiting game was enough to drive him crazy, it was the only explanation he could afford the blow up he'd had toward Mia when he couldn't get what he needed. 

"_Tell me some good news," he said rubbing his hands together in eager expectancy. _

_The look of urgency on the lab tech's face was cause for an immediate forfeit in the CSI's good mood._

"_Sorry, Nick. Day shift has a triple homicide," she shook her head motioning to the test tubes lined along the counter. "I'll get to your stuff as soon as I can. Ecklie says this gets precedence."_

_His emotions, on high alert the past two days, had finally reached their boiling point._

"_What the hell, Mia!" he said, his voice rising almost involuntarily. "You've had three days to get the stuff back. A nine year old girl is dead! To hell with what Ecklie said," he said, anger now resonating from the man. _

"_Nick…I realize…" the DNA specialist tried to explain._

"_No," he said shoving the cart of dayshift evidence out of the way. "When there's a nine year old girl lying in the morgue, SHE takes precedence. Screw Ecklie," he said walking out of the lab. _

CSI had been abuzz about Nick's blow up. He'd been met with stares, whispers, and concerned looks as he walked through the maze of hallways. He needed air. He needed out of the fishbowl.

The night air was refreshing as he walked to his truck. He needed a break, he needed to drive. So, he drove.

* * *

He'd been back at the lab less than five minutes before he was tracked down by Ecklie. 

"STOKES!" he said anger evident in his voice.

"WHAT?" he asked not hesitating to match the man's bravado.

"That stunt you pulled in the lab, care to explain it?"

"Not really," he shrugged glaring at the man.

"I don't care what case you're on," the lab supervisor started again, "when I say a case gets precedence, that's how it goes."

"To hell with your case," Nick said not afraid to stand up to the man.

"NICK!" Grissom said alerted to the standoff in the hallway. "My office," he said already leading the way.

"What has gotten into you?" the man asked shutting the door to his office as Nick took a seat. He looked defeated. "I won't hesitate to take you off this case," he said moving behind his desk now.

"You want to take me off the case?" he asked his voice not yet to its normal volume.

"No, I _don't_ want to, nevertheless… Nick, you're in too deep," the man shook his head. He was concerned, deeply concerned, for the CSI in front of him. "You're letting your emotions cloud everything about this case. You're blowing up at lab techs, and now Ecklie, it's not like you?"

"Yeah well, tell that to the nine year old girl in the morgue."

"Look, I know as well as you, how fragile this case is, but…"

"Griss, I don't need another lecture," Nick said rising to leave the office. "I'll apologize to Mia," he shrugged.

"You better steer clear of DNA for a while," the supervisor said. "I got your results for you," he said handing him a manila folder.

"Hey bro," Warrick said as he entered the break room. He was careful as he entered. It had been like walking on egg shells around his partner the past few days. They hadn't seen much of each other today to which Warrick was slightly grateful, he'd heard about the blow up in DNA and with Ecklie.

"Hey," Nick said looking up from the file in front of him.

The shift had gone relatively smooth thus far. Now nearing the end of the third day on the Tedesco case, the stress was mounting as answers started rolling in.

"I'm headed over to PD. Brass is interviewing Don Tedesco," he said pouring himself a cup of coffee. The black swill was the next best thing to eating dry coffee grinds, but the caffeine was effective.

"I just got DNA results. Mia finally got the samples analyzed," Nick shook his head. Irritation was thick in his voice and clear in his eyes as he looked back up to meet his partner's eyes one more time. "I'll meet you over there in a little bit."

"Right, see ya over there," Warrick nodded making his way to interrogation.

"You going to PD?" Grissom asked stopping Warrick in the hall. The usual file was tucked under the supervisor's arm.

"On my way now," the tall CSI nodded taking a sip of coffee. "Tedesco lawyered up. Brass is waiting on the pro-bono guy to get here."

"Not surprising. Let me know how it goes. I've got some work to do here."

"Will do."

Nick stuck around the break room reviewing the DNA results in his hand. DNA on the father's bed sheets was his own along with that of an unknown female.

Nick's eyes widened as he read further into the report. DNA from the tooth brush and hair brush matched the DNA from the pajama bottoms as well as the sheets pulled from the back alley. Male DNA had also been collected from the same set of sheets and pajamas, DNA belonging to Don Tedesco.

"The son of a bitch," Nick said to the empty room. "The sick son of a bitch," he said rising from the table, his half empty coffee cup spilling across the table as he collected the file and exited the room.

"Come on Don," Brass said to the man across the table. He and Warrick were still waiting for the lawyer to arrive, what was the harm in just talking to the man?

"Where's my lawyer?" he asked avoiding the stare of the detective.

"Oh, he'll be here any minute," he shrugged as the door to the room swung open.

"You sick bastard," Nick said. There was fire in his eyes. It was a look even Warrick was unaccustomed to seeing from him.

The CSI made a bee line for the suspect.

"What, you couldn't get enough? You had to rape your own daughter?" he asked throwing a punch. It landed square on the suspect's jaw sending him hurdling to the floor. He was on top of the man now, ready to throw another punch.

Blood began pooling on the floor.

He should have been used to seeing blood, but this was different. This he had caused, and it was all over his knuckles as proof. Now, his best friend was pulling him off a suspect.

Blood rushed to his face.

Anger?

Embarrassment?

Resentment?

He had to get out.

The sunglasses were a vain attempt to keep the early morning sun from blinding him. It didn't help matters that he was getting another migraine. They were a new development within the past eight months, ever since…

He heard Warrick calling after him, but didn't turn around. He knew what he'd say. He'd been an ass the past few days, he knew that. But, this was not the time to face off with his partner, his best friend; he knew it would be ugly if they did.

Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd reacted so strongly to the case. He'd seen thousands of cases like this one. Why was this case so special? Why did _this_ one push him over the edge?


	7. Chapter 7

**Note:** I promised y'all an update...so here it is. Sorry... it'sa little later than I anticipated (i had grand schemes of writing last night, but i hit the sack around 9:00...was way too tired to get into any deep introspections) and it's a bit shorter than previous chapters...but I have plans for the next couple chapters.  
thanks for the reviews...much appreciated  
as usual let me know your thoughts.

* * *

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten home, he just knew it involved his key in the ignition, his foot on the gas, and not letting up until he'd gotten where he wanted to go. As much as he wanted to move now, though, he couldn't. He just sat in his truck, the front door of his house beckoning him.

He could tell it was getting relatively late in the morning, the shadows had moved a good ten degrees before he'd managed to even unfasten his seatbelt. No use rushing, he knew work was out of the question tonight. Word of his blow-up was bound to have reached Grissom by now. No doubt he'd be pulled off the case, and for once in his career, he really didn't care.

Nick pulled the key out of the ignition, opened the driver's side door and slowly made his way into his house.

There were five messages on his machine. He sure as hell didn't feel like talking to anyone. He wasn't even sure why he pushed the button to hear who'd called.

_Hey man, it's Warrick. Give me a call when you get this._

_Hey bro, give me a call._

He stopped the playback after the third message repeated what the first two had already said. Apparently Warrick hadn't gotten the hint that he didn't want to talk outside the lab.

Nick threw his keys on the table along with his wallet and trudged to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the new six pack of Heineken sitting on the top shelf. He had been saving it for when Warrick and Greg came over for the Pistons game in a couple days. Returning to his living room, he set the beer on the table in front of the sofa as he sprawled himself out on the long piece of furniture. He'd buy more if he had to.

For now, he was tired, and his hand hurt.

Screwing the lid off the first bottle, he downed it disregarding the burn in his throat as the ale made its way to his stomach. He leaned his head on the back of the sofa and shut his eyes. The headache that had plagued him the last two days was coming back.

He downed a second beer in hopes of staving off the threat before getting up to change clothes. Pulling on his favorite, and well worn, A&M tee shirt and sweats he padded back into the living room. The third beer was calling his name. A knock on the door, however, thwarted his efforts of returning to the couch.

Stalking over to the door he swung it open. He wasn't too keen on the idea of a visitor. In fact he wanted nothing more than to finish off the six pack on his table and then sleep off its after effects.

The appearance of the man on his front step shouldn't have come as a surprise. Nevertheless, it was a rare occasion for Gil Grissom to show up unannounced. Leaving the door open, Nick turned and returned to his couch. Grissom could come in if he wanted; politeness had gone by the wayside a long time ago.

The supervisor entered the home slowly, quietly closing the door behind him. He really wasn't sure why he'd just shown up like this. Well, yeah he did. Catherine. The minute word spread that Nick had hit a suspect, Catherine came bursting into his office.

"_Nick hit a suspect?" she asked, shock bordering on anger resonating in her voice._

"_That's what I hear," Grissom nodded with a sigh. He'd yet to look up from the papers currently calling all of his attention._

"_What are you going to do about it?" she asked running a hand through her long strawberry blonde hair. She was pacing in front of his desk now, forcing him to refocus his attention._

"_What do you mean?" he asked with a shrug as he peered over his reading glasses._

"_What do I mean? Come on Gil; are you still blind to it? Nick needs help," she said taking a seat in front of him. "You have to find him and talk to him. Something needs to be done. Ecklie is threatening to fire him."_

"_Conrad can threaten all he wants. He's been doing it for years," Grissom shook his head as he removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair. _

"_And look where that got us last time. Gil…"_

"_I'll talk with him, okay?" he asked hoping to get the woman off his case. _

"_Today," she stood, ready to leave._

"_Today," he nodded. _

"_I'm going home," she turned toward the door. "I promised Lindsey breakfast. Oh, that case you put me on?"_

"_The DB at the Bellagio," he nodded, "I remember."_

"_Yeah, well I could use some more hands. Our suspicious circs turned into a triple homicide."_

"_I'll put Warrick and Sara on it," he said as she left his office. _

He really wasn't looking forward to the face off that was bound to happen between him and Nick. He knew he wasn't good with people; it'd always been his excuse for pushing those jobs onto Catherine or simply neglecting them altogether. It was how he lost Nick and Warrick last year. It was what caused him to hesitate now in starting up a conversation with the man in front of him.

Nick looked different to him. His hair was longer, sure, but that wasn't the only thing different about him. He looked older. He looked weighed down. He looked worn out. When had things changed? Why hadn't he noticed?

"How's the hand?" he asked noticing the ice pack next to his colleague.

"I'll live," Nick shrugged not yet making eye contact with the man.

Grissom casually made his way to the chair next to the sofa. How does a grown man begin a conversation that may ultimately lead to the demise of another's brick wall of pent up emotions? Was he ready to hear what haunted the man in front of him? Was he emotionally prepared for the inevitable breakdown?

Was he ready to share what haunted him? Was he prepared to become vulnerable?

"Nick…"

"Look, if you came here to lecture me, save it," he said shaking his head cutting his boss short.

"I'm not here to lecture you."

"Then why are you here?"

"Honestly? I don't know," the man shrugged. "I guess I'm concerned. Nicky, you crossed a line today. What's gotten into you?"

Was he waiting for a response? If he was he wasn't getting one.

"Are you still seeing your counselor?"

Where did this question come from?

"What does that have to do with anything?" Nick asked looking up for the first time since Grissom had taken a seat. There was a hint of anger in his eyes. It was clouded by a thick layer of defensiveness.

"It's a simple question, Nick. Are you?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He did what he did best. He retreated inward.

"Don't do this Nick," Grissom said recognizing the retreat immediately. "We need to talk about this."

"_We_ don't need to talk about anything," Nick responded, his anger becoming more prevalent. "_You_ need to talk about this."

"What has gotten into you Nicky? What's changed?"

Again, no response. It would be a one-sided discussion.

"I can't pretend to know what's going on. You're going to have to talk to me. You've got some time off coming to you, and you better take it," he said standing. "You're lucky Tedesco's lawyer wasn't around. Brass was able to calm the guy down enough. He's not pressing charges. You're lucky.

"Look, when you're ready to talk you know where to find me. You're off the case until then," he said turning toward the door.

The metal doorknob was cold in his grasp. The wooden door was heavy as he slowly opened it letting the late morning sun stream into the semi-dark room. Just as he was about to step out Grissom was stopped by the sound of a broken man's voice.

"Grissom that man sexually molested his own daughter. He'd lost all hope in life after his wife died. I don't regret hitting him for a second."

Grissom slowly turned around. He didn't say a word fearing any sound he made would cause his CSI to clam up again.

"I can't get the girl's face out of my head," he shook his head, his voice cracking.

Grissom returned to the chair from which he had just stood. Nick's eyes bore into his now as he remained seated on the couch. There was anger, desperation in his voice.

"Damn it, she looked so scared," he said trying desperately to keep his voice from trembling. "I can't get rid of it."

"Get rid of what?"

"The feeling that there was more I could have done. I could have stopped it."

"Nicky…" The man was at a loss as of what to say. This was the last thing he'd expected. A yelling match, sure. He expected to be met with hostility, anger. He was even prepared to handle it.

The desperation, the pure, raw emotions he was being met with, however, were enough to knock him off his feet. He was at a complete loss as to what to do. It was a feeling he hated more than anything, and it wasn't the first time he'd felt this way about Nick.

"Grissom, I don't know if I can do this anymore," he said taking a deep shuddering breath. "I just…don't know…"

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**Another note:** I know it's not the best ending I've had to a chapter...but like I said at the start...I have some things planned...I just wanted to capture Nick (and Grissom) and a sort of a crossroads...  
so now...tell me your thoughts! 


	8. Chapter 8

**Note:** it took two days to get this chapter out...but here it is...i don't even know how to put into words the emotions I went through writing this...man, it was a struggle, and I honestly feel totally worth every last ounce of energy I expended on it...  
I hope you enjoy...By the way...thanks for all the reviews...muchas gracias!

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Time had stopped. And he felt totally helplessness.

This wasn't a new feeling for him.

However, the utter loss of words he seemed to be experiencing was.

Words had never failed him before. He _always_ had the advice, the knowledge, the wisdom needed for whatever the scenario. His brain was an abyss of what many would call useless information. But this time, for possibly the first time in his midlife, words were failing him. His attempt of swimming through the abyss, his attempt of digging out the right piece of advice, proved fruitless as the much sought after words escaped him.

Gil Grissom was dumbstruck and he hated it.

He wasn't good with people. It had been the excuse he'd hidden behind for years. Catherine was much more suited to handle the instability that is the human emotion. Catherine was better equipped to handle the breakdowns, the blowups, and everything in between. Catherine should have been the one sitting in the living room. Catherine should have been the one. She would have found the words to say. She wouldn't have crumbled under the pressure; much like Grissom felt he was.

He had spent his entire career trying to keep emotions at bay. Emotions were a sign of weakness, of ones inability to remain objective.

Objectivity.

It wasn't just a state of mind for him. It was how he lived his life, and he liked it that way.

It was less… complicated that way.

And, though his colleagues may argue him to be a human shell void of emotion, he struggled almost as much as the next to bury his emotions on the job. He had his moments like everyone else. He had his special cases, they all did. For Sara it was spousal abuse. For him it was the untimely death of a child.

It wasn't all that long ago he had a blow up very similar to Nick's in the DNA lab. A child had been reported missing and later found dead. A baby, not even a year old, hadn't even been given a chance to live. So, no he wasn't _totally_ void of emotion.

But, now it was the emotionality of the man in front of him that made him want to run for the door.

But, now even more it was the emotionality of the man in front of him that kept him glued to his chair, unwilling…unable to move.

Nick was quite possibly the strongest man Gil Grissom knew. The man had been to Hell and back and remained relatively unscathed. He continued to be impressed with the man as he continually jumped and cleared every hurdle thrown in front of him. But it wasn't until now that that barrier, that seemingly unbreakable barrier, came crumbling down. It was now that he was witness to the stumbling.

The man Grissom saw sitting on the couch was not the same man he'd talked with at the lab just hours ago. The man on the couch looked worn. The man on the couch looked beaten, completely wilted. And the feeling that he was the only one capable of reviving him almost made him sick to his stomach. He was in no way prepared for this.

Time continued to stand still as he witnessed what could only be the total collapse of the man's emotional barriers.

"What can't you do anymore?" he asked finally able to form words and force them out.

"This job," Nick sighed leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Do you still love it?"

"What?" he asked.

Had he not heard the question? Was he not speaking at an audible volume?

"Do you…still love it…the job?" he asked again, this time being a little more deliberate with his word formation. "Do you still get the same feelings, the same emotions, when you solve a case?"

"I thought you said there was no room for emotions," Nick said.

Was there a spark in his eye?

"Just answer the question, Nick."

"Yeah," he sighed as he slouched back into the plush couch. "I mean…I guess so," he shrugged. "I don't know."

"Why don't you?" he asked. He wasn't sure where the questions were coming from or in what direction they were leading him and it was beginning to scare him.

"Today I hated the job," Nick responded, his eyes downcast. Frustration was beginning to edge into his voice.

"Why?"

"Did you see the father?" he asked meeting Grissom's eyes, his own narrowing. "There was no remorse, no regret…there was _nothing_ in his eyes. He was empty."

"Is that why you hit him?"

"No… I hit him because he deserved it. I hit him, because his daughter couldn't fight back." Anger was beginning to take over.

"I don't get it Nick," Grissom shook his head. "I've worked with you for years and you've never crossed the line with a suspect. And then all of a sudden, first with the McBride case…and now this...Why?"

He knew the second the question was asked, it was the wrong question. There would be no answer as he watched Nick's inward retreat once more.

"Nick…"

"Don't do this Grissom," he said with a shake of his head, the fire returning to his brown eyes.

"Is it because of last summer? Are you on some kind of conquest?" he asked regretting it the second the words left his mouth. His people skills were once again getting the better of him.

"Jesus, Grissom!" he said shooting up from the couch. "Does everything have to go back to _that_?" he asked pacing the floor of his living room as he ran a hand through his hair. "No…it doesn't go back to last summer," he shook his head.

"Then what is it? Why can't you just talk to me?" he asked bringing himself to a standing position hoping to match that of the man in front of him.

"Damn it!" Nick shook his head, turning his back toward his boss. He brought a hand up to wipe the tear from his eye.

"Nick, _what_ is going on?"

He continued to pace the floor, trying his best to get a grip on his emotions. He hated himself for letting Grissom see him like this. He hated himself more for what he was about to say.

"Nine year old kids aren't supposed to live in fear," he said slowing his pace, his voice obviously catching in his throat.

Grissom remained quiet for fear of causing another inward retreat. He silently sat back in the recliner, letting down his own defenses in hopes of allowing the time Nick needed to get out what he wanted to say.

"Damn, I thought I was over it," he shook his head. He hadn't yet returned to his place on the couch, but continued his slow pacing. He was hesitating. Grissom could only guess why. He was not prepared for what came next.

"I was nine years old…and I was scared," he finally choked out as he forfeited to the couch once again. "Susan Tedesco didn't deserve to live like that. Cassie McBride didn't deserve to live like that," he continued.

"Nick…"

"Catherine's the only one who knows about it," he shook his head. "A couple years ago we were given a case where a teenager was killed while in a therapy session. His doctor had a background. She'd been accused of molesting her patients."

"I remember the case," Grissom nodded hoping to encourage him to continue.

"I know what it's like to live in that kind of fear. For me…it was a last minute babysitter…" he trailed off. "The fact that that fear is invoked by the child's parent is unthinkable," he said, his face contorted with emotion.

"I don't know what to say," the man shrugged helplessly. It was an admittance he wasn't used to making. "I'm sorry."

He'd like to say the news knocked him off his feet. He'd like to say it threw him for a loop, but nothing took him by surprise anymore. Sometimes he hated that about the job. In a job where everything was thrown at a person, in a city where anything could happen, and usually did, he had almost become immune to surprise.

"Cassie McBride couldn't fight back. Susan Tedesco couldn't fight back," Nick said. His voice was quiet now; his gaze was glued to his hands in his lap. A bruise was starting to form around the knuckles of his right hand. "I couldn't fight back... I should have been able to fight back…"

"Nick you were just a kid," Grissom tried his best to console the hurting man.

"No…I wasn't," he said with a slow shake of his head. His voice was barely above a whisper.

The reality slowly began to sink in and it sent a chill up Gil's spine. Nick wasn't just talking about when he was nine years old. He wasn't talking about a scared kid in a dark bedroom. He was talking about his life now. He was talking about a scared man in a dark world.

"Sometimes…" he started to offer what he hoped would be some form of comfort, some small piece of wisdom. But, again words failed him. His heart was breaking for the man in front of him.

Though the living room was spacious, Gil was suddenly feeing suffocated. The air was thick. The chemical synapses in his brain were firing warning signals. Every impulse within him was telling him to run from the house, to experience the invigorating effects of the fresh air outside.

The inability to move, however, prevented his retreat. His feet, as if they were two blocks of cement, were glued to the floor. Running would not be an option.

"I should have been able to fight back," Nick shook his head again. He was completely and utterly defeated.

"Nick…"

Again, there were no words.

"The fear won't go away," Nick said looking into his boss's eyes.

Grissom shuddered as he came face to face with the brutal reality of the man's emotions. The look in his CSI's eyes was haunting. Nick's eyes reflected a life's worth of maturity, a life's worth of experiences. His brown eyes, once so vibrant and eager, were now deep and sorrowful. Fear was buried deep beneath the surface layers of strength and determination. Slowly Gil watched those layers deteriorate and the layers of fear come full to the surface.

He'd seen those eyes once before. He'd prayed he'd never have to see them again.

"It's been months…" he said choking on his words.

"Nick…" he started slowly. This time words would have to work. "What you went through is unimaginable. I can't pretend to know what it must feel like, to have to deal with it every day. But, everyday you wake up, everyday you eat a meal, everyday you come into work… it's one day Walter Gordon doesn't dictate."

It had been months since he'd thought about, let alone spoken, that name. The stiffening in Nick's posture didn't go unnoticed as he uttered the name of the man who'd turned the entire crime lab's world upside down.

"You're wrong…" Nick shook his head, a tear escaping down his cheek. He was quick to wipe it away.

"Nick…"

"He still has a grip. He always will."

"Nick, you have got to be the strongest person I know." It was the first time he'd made himself emotionally available to his colleague. "You held it together longer than any of us ever would have."

"Then why the hell do I feel so damn weak? Why the hell do I still struggle to sleep at night? Why the hell do I still have nightmares? Why the hell do I wake up in cold sweats scared to death that it's not over?

"All I want is for life to go back to the way it was. I don't want to be scared anymore. I don't want to be angry anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore," he said, his anger turning to despair as a slow steady stream of tears began to stain his face.

Gil slowly took a seat next to the broken man. He wasn't sure of what to say, wasn't even sure that words would even work. So, he did the only thing he knew would work. He sat nearby. He let the man cry.

And he waited.

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**And one more thing...**  
please let me know thoughts...reactions...you name it i want to hear it...THANKS 


	9. Chapter 9

**Note**: re-uploaded chapter nine...the site was a littel schitzo last night...and i made a few subtle changes to dialogue...fixed a few typose that were driving me nuts. Thanks again to all you guys for reading and reviewing...very thought provoking stuff...much appreciated. keep the reviews coming!

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He knew he'd said too much. What the hell was he thinking telling Grissom all of this? It had been hard enough telling Catherine the crap about his childhood? But, damn, crying like that in front of him? He'd think he'd lost it for sure.

He was already feeling awkward having the man in his house. The added rampage and rush of emotions was unexpected and embarrassing in its own right.

Maybe he _was_ losing it.

_Damn, why was it so hard to talk to the man beside him?_

He didn't know where to go from there, wasn't sure what to say. Hell, he wasn't sure saying anything would even help.

Grissom was at an equally discouraging loss of words. The concern for his CSI was overwhelming. How long had he been holding on to all this emotional baggage, all this trauma? Was he so stubborn he couldn't talk to someone? And why hadn't he seen it before now? Was he so self-absorbed, so lost in his own thoughts that he'd missed what was right in front of him? Were the assumptions others made about him right?

"Nick, you can't let him win. You can't let him haunt you."

"But, he does," Nick shook his head, his voice raspy. "He's in my head and I can't get him out."

Minutes ticked away as they remained on the couch. It was near noon before Nick spoke again.

"Did you know Kelly Gordon's out?" Nick asked his eyes focused on the coffee table in front of him. He wasn't sure why he was asking him. Wasn't sure why he was even starting onto this.

"I didn't know you did," Gil grimaced as he heard the name of Walter's daughter. "The parole hearing board called me the day they released her."

He remembered hearing about the hostility of Kelly Gordon when Brass and Sara had interviewed her at the prison. _I hope your friend dies,_ she'd said with hatred in her eyes. He remembered the day they got Nick back. He hadn't hesitated in calling the people he needed to in order to keep tabs on the daughter of Walter Gordon. But, the fact that Nick knew and hadn't said anything… This was not going in a good direction. This was _not_ the way he wanted Nick to find out about this.

"I saw her a few weeks ago," Nick nodded, "first at a crime scene, then back at the lab."

"What?" His voice was quiet. He didn't want to be angry. Why hadn't Nick told somebody? "Why didn't you say something?" he asked.

"I didn't want to. It's really not that big of a deal," he shrugged. "She came to see me."

Apparently they both had their secrets.

"I never told you I went to see her in prison either," he said hanging his head.

Why not just tell him everything? He seemed to be on a pretty good roll so far.

"When she came to the lab…" he started again slowly, "she said something… I asked her if she was okay. She said she'd been thinking about what I had said to her."

"What did you say to her?" Gil asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as usual.

"I told her not to take it with her," he said with a small laugh. The advice seemed weak to him.

"Sounds like pretty good advice," Grissom said, a smile flirting with the corner of his mouth as he watched Nick wrestle with his own words. Nick never surprised him with his concern for others; it's what made him the CSI that he was. "What'd she say…at the lab."

"She said she was perfect…" he said looking back up at his supervisor.

"And that put you on edge?"

"It wasn't her words…" he trailed off trying to wrap his brain around what he wanted to say. "It was the look in her eyes… I hate knowing she's out there," he said anger and frustration back in his voice.

"Nick, she's not the one…"

"I know," he cut off his boss's words. "She may not have done anything to me physically, but…"

"But, what?"

"Psychologically…" he trailed off again, unable to finish his thought. He sulked back into the couch. "…it's wreaking havoc."

Grissom was torn as he watched Nick unravel. He hated feeling helpless when the man in front of him needed…wanted so much for some kind of human emotional contact. He hated that _he_ had to be the person to give it to him. He was not the best person for the job; he just wasn't the personable type. Of the entire team, he was the least likely to relate to Nick. He and Nick were opposites in almost every aspect of the job and their personal lives rarely crossed. Maybe that's why Catherine had pushed him so hard. So, at the risk of getting completely out of character, and maybe even sharing part of his own private life, he stood from the couch. He was tired of the awkward tension his silence seemed to create.

"Alright, look…"Grissom started, his thoughts still taking form in his mind. "Get changed."

"What?" Nick asked.

"I'm serious. Get changed. You need to get out of this house."

"Griss…"

"Just trust me," he said as Nick slowly rose and moved toward his bedroom.

He watched as Nick shuffled down the hall. He really hoped he knew what he was doing.

After changing into a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt, Nick walked into his bathroom. Flipping on the light, he glanced into the mirror over his sink. He looked like hell, which only added to how he felt.

What the hell was Grissom doing? And why was he blindly going along with it?

He splashed cold water on his face, knowing it was a futile attempt at making himself feel better. At best it only got rid of the tear stains that were so uncharacteristic on his face. He looked in his medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of eye drops on the second shelf. Putting a couple drops in each eye he brushed his teeth and deemed himself ready to face his boss again.

"Where are we going?" he asked pulling on his favorite black jacket as he followed Grissom out the door. He paused just long enough to grab his wallet and keys and lock the door behind him.

"Out," he said over his shoulder. "I'm driving."

It was early afternoon; the sun was high as Nick pulled out his sunglasses. It was a semi-mild January day, the temperature hovering around the forty-five degree mark. He was glad he'd put on a coat. He hopped into the passenger seat of Grissom's Denali and clicked his seat belt.

He hated surprises.

They rode in silence for nearly an hour. It wasn't an awkward silence. It was just…quiet.

"Hey Catherine," Grissom said into his phone, "It's Gil. Can you cover shift tonight?" he asked pausing for her response. What Nick would give to hear both sides of the conversation. "Yeah," Grissom nodded. "Alright…thanks," he finished clicking his phone closed.

"So you want to fill me in?" Nick asked hoping to get some idea of where they were headed.

"No," Grissom shook his head staring straight ahead. The glint in his eye didn't go unnoticed.

Coming to terms with the fact that he'd be kept in the dark, Nick resumed his role as the quiet passenger.

He must have dozed off. The next thing he knew Grissom was pulling off the road into a makeshift parking spot. There, staring back at the men stood the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.

"What…"he asked still coming out of his stupor.

"I used to come here when I was a kid," Grissom said sitting back in the driver's seat. He unhooked his seatbelt and climbed down from the SUV. Nick followed suit joining Grissom at the front of the vehicle.

"Where are we exactly?" he asked glancing at his watch. It was five o'clock.

"Marina Del Ray, I grew up here," Grissom said his hands in the pockets of his black slacks, "about six miles that way," he said using his head to point toward the left. He began walking now, toward the nearby cliffs. "I used to come here to think."

Nick followed him quietly taking in the scene, breathing in the fresh air. He joined his boss in taking a seat on the ground. They let their legs hang over the ledge.

"It was always quieter here," he said looking out over the water. "Nick, I can't pretend to know what you're going through right now. But, I can tell you that I know what it's like to be mad at the world. When I was a teenager, I remember hating my mom...for being deaf. I hated my dad for never being around. Most of all I hated the fact that it all affected me so much.

"I buried my feelings because that was the only way I knew to cope. I had no one to talk to. It was just natural for me to cope by diving into whatever else was around me. Back then it was books. Now, it's still books, but it's also my job," he said glancing over at his co-worker.

"Your feelings…your emotions are what make you the CSI that you are. You're good at what you do, Nicky. You relate to the victims and their families in a way that I never could. Don't lose that."

He couldn't believe he was being so open with his colleague. He'd never even privileged Catherine to this kind of emotional availability. He had tried once, but it was nowhere near this open.

The dynamics of his relationship with Nick were changing. It was about time, he assumed. For years he'd kept the man at bay, skeptical of his own reasons why. Nick always seemed too eager, too…something, he wasn't sure, but it always grated him in a weird way.

In the past months, however, the witnessing of the man's deterioration and his most recent melt down had opened his eyes. Grissom had always chided Nick for his eagerness to please him; he had even scolded him, held him back from his job. He thought it had been for the better, and maybe it had been.

It seemed the second he'd let the man spread his wings, he'd started losing him. First it was Nigel Crane. Now it was Walter Gordon.

It's not that Grissom didn't trust Nick's abilities as a CSI; it was quite the opposite, in fact. He admired the man's skill, that's why he'd hired him to his team. He had a drive that couldn't be matched.

The two sat silent for nearly an hour watching the sun set over the ocean.

The silence was therapeutic to Nick. The time away from the lab, the air…it all came together and aided him in clearing his head for the first time since the start of the Tedesco case. He could breathe easy for the first time in three days.

Night was taking hold, overtaking day. Cold was taking the place of the daytime warmth bringing a chill to both men. Grissom stood first, not wanting to rush anything. He felt he'd made progress; he'd given Nick the opportunity he needed to talk. In this case he'd aloud him time to be quiet.

Slowly they made their way back to the car.

"You hungry?" Grissom asked putting the key in the ignition and starting the vehicle.

Realizing for the first time he'd gone all day without eating he nodded in response.

"There's a place just down the road," he pointed maneuvering the car back onto the paved road.

It had been a long day. Nick was exhausted, both physically as well as emotionally. The talk with Grissom, though very puzzlingly, was helpful. He was taken aback at first by the man standing on his front porch that morning. The man was his boss, rarely anything more than that.

All that had changed within a matter of hours. Grissom sat in a new light; though still shaded in part, Nick could see the man a little more clearly.

It would take a while to process everything that had been said, by him as well as by Grissom, that day. Nick casually looked out the window at the passing scenery. The man he saw looking back at him in the side view mirror was a new man, someone he hadn't seen in a while.

He leaned his head back on the head rest slowly exhaling as he closed his eyes. The weight was slowly easing from his shoulder, the pressure easing in his chest.

Grissom could sense the change almost immediately. The man he sat next to now was someone he remembered, someone he realized now he'd missed. Slowly, Nick was coming back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note:** so the last chapter was a little sappy...maybe cause for the slump in reviews...thanks to those who did post! Here's the next chap...not as sappy as the last...thoughts always appreciated!

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As much as he needed to, he couldn't make himself move. He'd been off work for a week already, had actually rested and felt better than he had since…well, since last summer. It was a breath of fresh air just to sleep through the night, unaided by pharmaceuticals. Since his day with Grissom, his newly filled prescription had gone untouched.

Now, for some reason he was feeling the uneasiness, the churning in his stomach he'd hoped to never feel again. It wasn't as much a sick feeling as it was more a nervous feeling. What he was nervous about, he wasn't quite sure. But, for some reason, nervous he was, and quite unable to make his feet move.

He ran a hand through his almost-troublesomely long hair. Sweat beaded his forehead as he stood in the middle of the semi-crowded sidewalk on Rampart Boulevard. Were he double jointed; he'd kick himself for being so ridiculous.

Though the sun was shining, and even warm on his back, Nick zipped up his coat to ward off the chill racing up his spine. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring at the building across the street.

"Can I help you sir?" an older lady asked as she passed him, perhaps for the second or third time.

"Oh, no ma'am," he managed to smile, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking. He watched as the lady walked into the store behind him snickering as she kept a wary eye on him. He still couldn't move. He continued to stand stock still for what seemed like eternity.

Only minutes had passed, but he still hadn't moved. The street was becoming more crowded as the lunch hour approached. It would soon be the midday rush. If he was going to cross the street, now would be the time.

Nick mustered up his courage, stepped from the curb – his safe haven – and made his way across the street.

The door was heavy, heavier than it should have been, as he pushed it open. The bell just above the door jingled on its hinge as the top of the door hit it. The sound was nearly enough to make his skin crawl.

_Get it together, Stokes_, he berated himself. He couldn't believe how unreasonable his emotions were.

"Can I help you, sir?" an older man asked as he stepped into the small, brightly lit room.

"I'm…uh…" he cleared his throat, "I'm Nick Stokes. I have an appointment," he nodded taking in his surroundings.

"Ah," the gentleman smiled. "Come on in."

For so long, he'd tried to move past everything, to forget that life sucked. For months he hated the man in the mirror. He'd do anything to forget him, to erase the past.

His way of coping?

Work.

It was always there. It was his one constant. His team was the one reliable thing, the one thing he'd grown to count on. They'd never let him down. They were his stronghold.

In the past few months, it'd become harder and harder to run from what scared him most. It'd become harder to run from life. That's what he'd been doing, anyway. Running. Running from his past, running from the people in his life.

"So what do you think?" the man asked snapping him from his own thoughts. Slowly the chair in which he was sitting was spun around. The man in the mirror, staring back at him, was someone he'd seen before. It'd been a while, but he remembered him.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was definitely shorter. He nodded in response. He offered the best smile he could afford, paid the man and stood. The hair on the floor caught his eye. It was a lot of hair.

He felt like he'd left a part of him behind, as he walked back outside. He felt lighter, as if pounds had been shed within the past twenty minutes. Felt as if months, even years had been wiped away. He ran his hand through his hair. It felt different, lighter, more like he remembered it. It'd been a good month or two since he'd last had it cut.

He wasn't sure if it was laziness, or a change he was trying to make. The direction in which he was headed a week ago was the polar opposite of the direction he was headed now. He hoped so, anyway.

Within the time he'd been inside the barber shop, the street had become backlogged with traffic, four-wheel as well as foot. Glancing at his watch he dodged between cars making his way back across the street. It was nearing one o'clock, he couldn't be late.

"Hey bro," Warrick said standing from his seat at the usual booth. He stretched out his fist, welcoming the jibe from his friend with a smile.

"Sorry, I'm late," Nick said taking off his coat as he slid into the booth opposite him.

It hadn't taken long for Warrick to catch up with Nick following the blowup in the interrogation room.

_For about a day and a half, Nick had avoided his phone calls, had neglected in calling him back. _

_Warrick had finally had enough and had made his way to Nick's place adamant about getting the answers he felt he rightly deserved._

"_What the hell has gotten into you?" he asked a little too angrily as Nick opened the door. He almost immediately regretted his tone as he took in the man's disheveled appearance._

_He hadn't shaved in a couple days. His hair, annoyingly shaggy, hung across his forehead brushing the top of his eyes._

_Nick backed away from the door silently, allowing room for Warrick to enter the living room. He prepared himself for an earful._

"_Damn, man, you look like shit," his friend said as he, again, took in Nick's appearance. _

_Nick shifted his weight as he leaned heavily against the door shutting it behind him. He was already beginning to feel a little uncomfortable._

"_Yeah, well…" he stammered as he made his way slowly to his couch, "I can't say it's been the best week."_

"_Yeah…about that…" Warrick sighed rubbing the back of his neck, his other hand in his pocket. He slowly moved to the recliner he'd unofficially dubbed his own. _

"_It was a tough case, Rick."_

"_Wanna talk about it?"_

"_Not really."_

"_You know you've been an ass, right?" There was a small glint in his eye._

"_Look, man…"_

"_Hey, no apologies needed," Warrick sighed leaning back in his chair. "We all have our sore spots." The two sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't an awkward silence; quite the opposite in fact. "Look, I can't stick around long. I just wanted to make sure you were still alive," he said standing. _

"_I'll be back in a couple weeks," Nick stood with a nod following his friend to the door._

"_Yeah," he nodded in response, "I know. Look, meet me for lunch on Thursday."_

"_Sure," Nick nodded. "Usual spot?"_

"_Yeah."_

_Nick looked different, Warrick thought as he walked toward his SUV. Something had changed in his friend. Something obvious, yet curiously opaque. He hated the recent veiled disposition of his partner. He hated more that there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. _

"You got a hair cut," Warrick smirked as he took a drink from his coffee cup.

"Yeah, it was time," Nick nodded as the waitress came to their table with a smile.

"Hey, Nick. It's been a while," she smiled filling the coffee cup she placed in front of him.

"Kelly, good to see you," he smiled at the familiar waitress.

"You guys want the usual?" she asked. There was no need for writing their order down. They had frequented the diner so often, they'd become known to most of the staff. Their orders rarely varied.

The men nodded allowing the waitress to leave before either spoke up.

"So…" Warrick started, keeping a hand on the mug in front of him. "You look good."

"I'm better," Nick nodded. "Time off's been good," he said draping an arm over the back of the bench in which he sat.

It was obvious Warrick was fishing for what to say. It was rare for him to be so uncomfortable with his partner.

"Look, I hit the guy, Rick," Nick said tired of skimming the surface. "I lost it, simple as that," he shrugged.

"I don't buy it, man. There's more to it than that."

"The case got to me. I lost my cool." Nick knew Warrick wasn't happy with his shrug ness. The thing was, he didn't know how else to respond. More than anything he wanted to move on from it, forget it had happened. More than anything, he wanted his friend to be confident in him, to trust him, to quit looking at him as if he were a cause for concern.

What Nick didn't realize, though, was that he _was_ a cause for concern. Warrick had never seen his friend blow up like that before. He knew he had a temper, had his special cases, and had his special way with the victim's and their families. But, to haul off and punch a suspect? It just wasn't Nick.

"Rick, quit looking at me like that," Nick said shaking his head.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a cause, man."

It was time to tell the man what he was thinking.

"Look man. I've watched you unravel for the past eight months. First it was the McBride case. Now it's this. You're getting too wrapped up, too emotionally involved. What's going on with you?"

Nick didn't know how to answer. He'd wrestled with the same questions himself the past several days.

"Just talk to me, bro," Warrick said, frustrated by Nick's hesitancy.

"It's not that simple, Rick," Nick said a frustrated by the pushing of his friend. "You don't think I would if I could?"

"You don't talk to anyone, Nicky and you damn well know it."

"Here you go, guys," the waitress smiled placing each man's order in front of them. She left the check, face down, on the edge of the table. "Anything else?" she asked refilling their coffees.

"Thanks, Kelly," Nick shook his head.

The men ate their food in near silence.

"Look, Rick…"Nick started wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I don't know what to tell you."

"You can start with the truth," his friend said pushing his empty plate aside.

"I wish it were that easy."

"Why isn't it?"

"Because…" Nick paused as the waitress came to clear their dishes. "Because," he said slowly, his voice just above a whisper, "I haven't…"

"What, man?"

"Because, I don't know what the truth is, alright?" he said, frustration thick in his voice. "Damn it, man, if I had any idea what was going on inside my head, if I had any idea what the hell was happening to me…" he trailed off. He sulked back into the bench, looking out the window toward the street. "I can't talk about it, because I still don't know."

They sat silent again. Guilt was churning in Warrick's stomach. He hated seeing his friend hurting. He hated more the fact that he didn't know what to do for him. He silently picked up the check.

"I've got this," he said sliding from his seat to go pay.

Nick stood, pulled on his coat and met Warrick at the front door.

"You know I've got your back right?" Warrick asked pausing with his partner on the sidewalk. He pulled out his sunglasses, putting them on to shade his eyes from the glaring sun. The man really looked different to him.

"I know," Nick nodded as he shoved his hands in the pockets as he turned his gaze down the street.

"So you've got another week?"

"Yeah, if Ecklie has anything to do with it."

"Ecklie's a prick," Warrick smirked. "Always will be."

Nick laughed at this, the cloud lifting momentarily.

"Hey I'm taping the Bronco's game if you want…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, yeah, man. Tina's working odd hours. I'll be there," he patted the man on the shoulder. Things were still cool.

"I'll see ya later then," Nick nodded turning to go his own way.

"Yeah," Warrick returned with a smile. "Later."


	11. Chapter 11

**Note:** It's a short chapter...but I feel like it rounds everything out. It's closure to the story line. Hope you enjoy...thanks again for all the comments/reviews! I'm already working on my next piece...hopefully can begin on it in the next few days! Keep on open eye!

* * *

He didn't want to make himself move, and quite honestly couldn't. He was glued to his seat. He had been for nearly ten minutes now. 

He hit the indiglo on his watch. It was almost time for shift to start. Coming to terms with the situation, Nick slowly climbed down from his truck and made his way to the glass door entrance of the lab. He only hoped he could make it into the locker room without drawing too much attention.

The time off had been good. It had allowed a lot of time for processing and taking inventory. He did really expect it to feel weird coming back at the lab, but it did.

The night air was cool, but not cold, as he walked across the parking lot. Warrick's car, Sara's, Greg's…the team was all here.

Flashing his ID to Judy at the front desk he was surprised how easy, and even genuine, a smile and greeting came to him. He didn't know why he still showed his ID every time he entered the lab, habit he supposed. Judy knew his face as well as anyone else from graveyard shift.

He smiled a little, remembering the time the petit desk clerk had helped them on a case. The sweaters… He cringed at the thought. Kids killing kids, brothers killing brothers just wasn't natural.

Walking through the aquarium-like halls of the lab almost took on the sensation of moving in slow motion. Hodges was in the trace lab talking Greg's ear off about something. Neither man noticed as he passed.

Grissom was in his office. That would be his second stop after his locker.

He managed to make it to his locker and get it open without raising the alarm to his presence. The last thing he wanted was a thousand questions.

_How you doing, Nick?_

_Feeling better, Nick?_

_Can I get you anything?_

The last thing he wanted was to be babied, to be looked on like a cause, to be looked on like Warrick had looked at him a week ago. He was glad that awkwardness had passed with his friend. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was the inability to talk to the man that had saved him more than once.

"_Damn, man…I'd never seen you so mad," Warrick had said last week as he sat in Nick's house after the Bronco's game. "I don't get it."_

"_I snapped," he had tried to shrug it off. "Child abuse…it's unforgivable," he shook his head. _

"_Well, if it helps, we got him for the murder. I think the DA's looking for the death penalty."_

"_Damn!" Nick sighed leaning back on the couch. _

Sure, he'd crossed a line. Sure, he could have lost his job. Sure, he could have ended up with assault charges to his name. But he never regretted his actions. Anyone to take advantage of their own child, to break that special bond, that unique trust, with their own flesh and blood… It was unforgivable.

He'd never told Warrick about his own past. He probably never would. Hell, he wouldn't have told Grissom had he been in the right mind.

Nick prepped his gun, checking the safety and snapping it in his side holster. He really hoped Grissom wouldn't keep him in the lab tonight. He wasn't sure he could handle a full load of Hodges his first night back. But, to be safe, he left his field vest hanging on its hook. He'd come back for it if he had to.

It was time to make his appearances.

First stop, Grissom.

He made his way down the hall, this time eluding the stares of concern and avoiding the call from the trace lab tech.

Making it to his destination, he knocked lightly on the half-closed door, pushing it open as he did so. The Big-Mouth Billy Bass hadn't worked in a couple years. Nick never thought he'd miss the sound of that stupid fish.

"Hey, Griss," he said leaning in the door jam.

"Good, you're here," Grissom said looking up from his desk. He was swimming in the usual pile of paper work. "Shut the door, would you?" he asked motioning the CSI to enter.

Nick complied, taking a seat in front of the man's desk.

"How you feeling?" he asked putting his pen down and removing his glasses.

"Better," he nodded. The answer was truthful. It didn't grate on the man's ears as the usual two-word brush off he was expecting.

"Good," he offered his half smile. "You look good."

"Yeah," Nick smiled. His eyes were bright now.

He really did look different. His hair was shorter. He looked rested. He looked like the "old Nick"…almost. Gil knew he'd never fully be the "old Nick" again, but the man in front of him resembled the "old Nick" more than he had in the past eight months. It was refreshing to see the subtle changes.

"I'm putting you in the field," Grissom said leaning back in his chair.

"Okay," Nick nodded.

"Is it going to be a problem?"

"I can handle it," Nick shook his head.

"Okay," the supervisor nodded returning his glasses to the bridge of his nose.

Nick took the signal and rose to exit the office. He was at the door when the man's voice stopped him in his track.

"Nick, I'm trusting you to make the call on this one. If you can't handle it…"

"I'll pull myself out," Nick nodded holding the man's gaze.

Grissom nodded in response watching Nick retreat into the hallway. He looked like a different man.

Nick made his way down the hall. He could hear Greg and Warrick in the break room, their laughter resonating through the glass-lined hallways. He stood in the doorway of the room watching his three co-workers, his three friends. Greg and Warrick busied themselves with the current NBA game on TV. Sara, to no surprise, had her nose in a case file.

"Nick, you're back!" Greg said, practically beaming as he noticed the man standing at the door.

"How was the vacation?" Sara asked from the table lifting her eyes to smile at the man.

"Relaxing," he replied. "It's good to be back though," he nodded turning his gaze to the TV. "What's the score?"

"Sonics are up by ten," Warrick said.

"Hey Nicky," Catherine smiled as she entered the room. "Welcome back," she offered a hug. _How are you? _Her eyes begged the question, yet she couldn't get her mouth to form the words. The last thing she wanted to do was coddle the man. She knew how the man relished his space.

The look in her eyes didn't go unnoticed. He knew Catherine as well as anyone and offered a small nod or reassurance to the unspoken question. It seemed to appease her as she ventured over to the coffee maker to pour herself a cup of the black swill.

"Okay, guys," Grissom said joining the team. "I've got a homicide at Mandalay Bay. Nick, Sara and Warrick," he said handing the assignment slip to Nick, "you guys take the DBs at Sunshine Studios."

"The dance studio?" Warrick asked, his interest peaked. He met Nick's gaze, there was a twinkle in both their eyes.

"Alright guys," Sara said standing to intervene. She grabbed the slip from Nick's hand and made her way out the door.

"Hey, I'm driving," Warrick called on Sara's tail. "Welcome back, bro," he smiled giving his partner a pat on the shoulder as he passed him on his way out.

"I'll meet you at the car," he nodded. He had to grab his kit.

"Oh, hey guys," Grissom called catching his CSIs before they were gone. "Take Greg along," he said.

A smiled inched across the face of the young CSI. He quickly stood and followed the trail of Warrick and Sara.

Nick remained in the break room. He looked from Catherine to Grissom.

"Welcome back, Nicky," Grissom nodded grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table as he led Catherine from the room.

"Yeah, welcome back," she smiled, coffee cup in hand.

He smiled to himself. The time off had been good, but it felt even better to be back at the lab, he had to admit. He was meant for this job. He wouldn't change it for the world. He was home.


End file.
